


Only it ain't on the surface

by SpicyWolfsbane



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: But fluffy too, IT Secret Santa, Like Really Messy, M/M, but it's happy, slightly angsty, steddie, tattooed!Eddie, this is messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyWolfsbane/pseuds/SpicyWolfsbane
Summary: When he was 13, Eddie was dragged out of Derry by his mother. 27 years later, with New York's concrete jungle as a scenario, an Eddie Kaspbrak who is no longer That Eddie Kaspbrak reconnects with a Stanley Uris who is no longer That Stanley Uris either. Eddie carries the unexplained magic of his first love burned in his memory and also in his flesh.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Only it ain't on the surface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leighwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighwrites/gifts).



> This was written for @s-s-georgie (tumblr) for the IT Secret Santa held by @itfandomprompts (also tumblr). To the one to which I'm gifting this, I'm sorry if this isn't as fluffy as you hoped for. You can stab me if you want to.
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing Steddie - a ship that I payed no mind before but that now makes a lot of sense to me.  
> I think this work may sound confusing to readers, and for that I deeply apologize. This plot brings so many ideas to my mind, but I absolutely have no time to develop them and it would be rude to gift someone a multi-chapter story that I'll probably will not have the time to finish. So... I hope you can understand and read way beyond what I actually wrote.
> 
> English is not my first language and my only source of proof-reading was Grammarly (...). So if you find any mistakes, please, message me. 
> 
> For the sake of clarity, this story intercalates present moments with flashbacks. The flashbacks are marked in italics. 
> 
> If you feel like rambling with me, feel free to contact me at @slaveofimagination (tumblr)

**December 20 th,  2019**

**Somewhere at a coffee shop, on a table near the corner, after some tasteless lemon pie was eaten.**

**8:25pm**

“Have you ever heard of _Streptococcus pyogenes_?”.

Christopher – as it was written in dull black letters on his name tag – visibly swallowed his discomfort; his protruding Adam’s apple looking sickeningly like a neck lump. Eddie’s right hand itched as his nostrils felt like covered by a thick yet invisible hand. Stanley only smiled at Christopher.

“No sir”.

“Well,” Stan glanced briefly at him and Eddie could see a foreign aura of playfulness that not only his memory didn’t associate with Stanley, but felt disturbingly wrong at the same time “Flesh-eating bacteria,” the cadence of his voice blended mockery and amusement and if Christopher kept swallowing hard _like that_ Eddie was sure he wouldn’t be able to control the impulse to reach for his pocket “One cut and, in a good scenario, you will most likely send one of us to an ER in where we’ll have to gulp down lots of antibiotics just like some middle-aged truck driver drowning marguerites in a cheap roadside bar”.

Christopher’s lips were pursed in a thin line of annoyance and for a brief second, Eddie thought the waiter would bite back, snarking at Stanley in response to the clear rudeness in which the customer – that had barely enter his working place – was treating him over an ordinary mug that happened to have its porcelain slightly cracked.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll bring you another coffee”.

Stanley answered him with a wave of his lanky fingers and Christopher was quick to leave. It looked like randomly staring at the dark green towel covering their small table was much more entertaining for Stan than looking Eddie right in the eyes.

“That was…”.

“Rude,” he muttered to himself, and Eddie squinted his eyes trying to decipher if the other man was truly smiling despite the clear sadness on voice “And scientifically incorrect”.

“You can’t… You can’t get tetanus or fleshing eating bacteria by cutting yourself with broken china”, Eddie all but blurted out, catching Stan’s light blue irises on him “Not that cutting a lip wouldn’t be worrisome, but… Unless it’s… Unless it’s a broken toilet, I’m not going to figure in the menu for fleshing eating bacteria…”.

Stanley smiled brightly to him and it was Eddie’s turn to look away, taking in the small cozy coffee shop in which he almost combusted the moment in which Stanley Uris stepped in a couple of minutes ago, maybe two hours?

“I’m not that amused that you remember that,” Stan sighed, crossing his arms, stretching the fabric of his gray long-sleeved sweater that prevented Eddie from looking at what on earth was etched on his wrist “But at the same time I’m a little satisfied that you didn’t freak out because of some broken mug”.

“Cracked”.

“Yeah”, Stan snorted “Cracked”.

“People change”.

“Yeah? Are you really telling me this, Kaspbrak?”, Eddie just shrugged.

The clinking of cutlery coming from the counter near the kitchen’s door caught their attention and Christopher was quick – almost too quick to not hurt his neck – to turn his gaze away from their table, apparently focusing on his chat with a coworker, a small blonde girl whose eyes were the size of plates as she glanced at them.

“They probably think you’re an asshole”.

“I’m probably an asshole, Eddie,” Stan’s tone was mildly concerned, and Eddie saw as his eyes couldn’t leave the pair.

“We should’ve gone somewhere else,” his hopes to not be heard quickly crumbled as Stan turned his sad gaze to him “If you didn’t like it here. As I told you, I’m not the best person to be your city guide”.

“You’re a good guide, Eddie, but a shitty friend,” Stan tilted his head to his side, eyes still gloomy, and Eddie couldn’t help but feel himself shrinking inside his clothes “If you didn’t want to come, you could’ve just told me”.

“I didn’t say that”.

“You didn’t say anything at all for the past two and a half hours”, Stan chuckled, but Eddie could tell by the way he was fidgeting with his hands, that he was far from amused “You know… I didn’t expect to find you here in New York. Not to mention the goddamn company,” he glanced at Eddie and his eyes glistened dangerously “After all this time”.

“Me neither”.

“You know, I tried to be funny. Like Richie” Stan nodded in Christopher’s direction, rolling his eyes – _God_ – as Eddie frowned “The mug thing. The bacteria. Tried to see if you were capable of reacting to anything at all”.

“Oh”.

“Kinda shitty to joke about that, however, even if I see how you’ve changed. It makes me happy, Eddie, really happy. You’re definitely a new guy” Stan winked, and Eddie sighed, certain that all of his wrinkles were in full display as he grimaced.

“I’m forty, Stanley. I’m no longer a guy”.

“That would be a Stanley Uris kind of statement”.

“You’re right here trying to pull a _Richie Tozier_ and I don’t have the same right to impersonate your dryness too?”.

For the first time since he joined Eddie for dinner at Eddie’s favorite bistro, Stan smiled brightly, happily. Just like the smile he gave him one week prior, after twenty-seven years apart. This time, however, said smile wasn’t painted with shock and a disbelieving wave of surprised happiness, too strong to not sweep Eddie off of his feet. It was warm this time. Tired, but warm. It was full of relief and genuine tenderness.

“I bet Richie wouldn’t turn out to be a rude ass jerk as he witnessed the mediocre effects of his jokes”.

“I think he had plenty of time to be used to it”, Eddie risked a mocking posture and rejoiced as Stan replied, right in front of his eyes, with that thunderous spectacle of his half smile, half comfortably quiet laugh.

“Do you have any idea where Richie is?”

_“We had no idea where we were, Staniel. Stop being a whining bitch”._

_“You should’ve gone to an ER, you know it!” Stanley grumbled again, lanky body shielding Eddie from the sight of Bill and Richie’s ripped jeans and bloody scratched knees “Look, the blood is already dry! Do you have any idea of how dangerous it is to have wounds like this and soak them in dirty water?”._

_“W-we needed t-t-the ball, S-stan…”._

_“No need to give mommy more fuel to her ranting, Billiam”, Richie eyed Stan mockingly and Eddie noticed how he looked at him as he tried to hide behind Stan “Now we need the good Dr. K to fix us up”._

_“I will not touch any of you!” Eddie all but squealed, feeling Stan moving backward, hands in front of him, keeping Bill and – mostly – Richie away._

_“Don’t be such a prude, Eds. Bill and I will take good care of you, you just need to take care of us first,” the wet noises of Richie’s lips mimicking a kiss angered Eddie to a point in which his left hand grabbed the sides of Stan’s polo shirt “Now come here and fix us”._

_“He won’t do it”, and as much as Eddie hated to be treated like a powerless baby, he didn’t mind the protecting hand that covered his own as he held the soft fabric tightly “You know how Eddie hates this and if you two were dumb enough to fall it’s not his business to fix up your ass”._

_“I told you to change the brakes,” Mike sighed, eyes on Bill “you almost crashed into a car last week as we were cycling to the Quarry. Silver is all rusty and I bet that several screws are either loose or missing, Bill”._

_“How come you help Ben when Bowers kicked his ass and now you refuse to save me from dying when it’s all Bill’s fault?” Richie whined, a hand clutching his worn-out shirt just above his heart in an exaggerated display of sadness “How cruel are you, Eds?!”._

_“It was n-n-not my fault, R-Richie”._

_“Well, you were the one cycling”._

_“It was your i-i-idea”._

_“Plato already wrote about the differences between potentiality and actuality, Billiam. This was only set in motion because you decided to. Not my fault, I only talked about that, you rode the fucking bike”._

_“Hm, that’s actually Aristotle, Rich”._

_“Yo, Haystack, quiet,” Richie dismissed Ben with a wave of his hand “The fact is that philosophy won’t save you from your mom if Dr K. right there don’t clean and disinfect our wounds, sparing us from bleeding to death on your carpet”._

_“You’re big enough to take care of your own shit, Rich”._

_“As if you trust me enough to clean a wound properly, Staniel,” Richie rolled his eyes and a hint of impatience was heard on his strained voice “C’mon, Eds, it fucking hurts”._

_“I’ll not touch this, you look disgusting”._

_“Eddie, we n-need y-y-your help”._

_“It makes him uncomfortable, why can’t you just go to Ben’s bathroom and clean yourselves? Don’t you have enough braincells to deal with bandages and antiseptics?”._

_“Eds is an expert, Stan. I bet he has a golden membership card at Keene's” Richie smiled mockingly and his tone was sour enough for Eddie to feel like shrinking, leaning into Stan and almost touching the boy's back with his nose “His house smells like a fucking hospital”._

_“Mind to shut the fuck up?”_

_“Stan, Richie is r-r-right,” Bill started, quickly widening his eyes and raising his hands a little as he looked in the direction of Stan’s face, as if suddenly realizing that his words didn’t carry the meaning he was trying to convey “N-n-not the h-h-h-hospital p-part”, and Bill sounded nervous enough for Eddie to feel his palms itch in an attempt to control his desire to just move and look into Stanley's eyes “W-we need h-help…”._

_Eddie felt Stan’s back straightening, his cold thin hand leaving his so abruptly that Eddie couldn’t help but to lean more into Stan, which only got worse as Stan tried to delicately pull him away._

_“Hey, Eddie, let go, please”._

_The urge to say something ended up in an incoherent babble and Eddie felt ridiculous trying to talk to Stan as he turned his small body to his, both hands on Eddie’s tense shoulders. It wasn’t that common for Stan to smile, neither for him to display affection in tender ways, but Eddie’s clouded and terrified mind couldn’t see anything different as Stan’s thin lips slightly curved upwards, eyes serene and understanding._

_“I got this,” he squeezed Eddie’s shoulders, reassuringly, before glaring at Richie and Bill with not as near the tenderness that he looked at Eddie “Move your asses to the bathroom”._

_“Wait, what are you going to do Stan?”._

“And this is why I decided to move to here, as much as I hate big cities”.

“Haven’t you been in New York before?”.

“Yes,” Stan sipped from his coffee – blue mug, perfectly intact porcelain –, blonde curls falling to his face. Eddie could spot a few white strands, but it was quite hard under the dim light “Something like eight years ago. I came here with my mother for New Year’s Eve”.

“Oh” Eddie grimaced as Stanley chuckled.

“Yeah. Not my cup of tea”.

“This is coffee, Stan”. 

“You look better, thank God,” with careful movements, Stan placed the mug back on the saucer, resting his shoulders on the table “Not very sanitary, I know. I’m just tired”.

“Oh, I don’t mind”.

“You don’t?” Stan tilted his head, smiling briefly, resting his chin on his palms “Good, because I’m tired”.

“We can leave if you want to,” Eddie swallowed the lump blocking his throat, awfully conscious of everything about himself and his clear lack of social skills. It felt like being a teenager again under the scrutiny of controlling eyes “I, well, it was nice to see you again”.

“Nah, I don’t want to leave, we have a lot to talk,” Stan’s smile was reassuringly, and he looked genuinely at ease, something that made Eddie’s inside twist. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be there, but he didn’t want to witness the easy way in which he was risking to end something he barely rescued “Now that you started to talk I don’t really want to miss the opportunity”.

“Well, now we’re coworkers, Stanley, we’ll have plenty of time”, he tried to sound nonchalant, almost knocking over his own glass in the process of trying to look unaffected. If Stanley noticed his shaking hands, he was polite enough to spare Eddie the embarrassment.

“Are you ditching me, Kaspbrak? After all this time?”.

“You’re a terrible actor, Stan”.

“Said who?”.

As Eddie rolled his eyes – knowing full well who’s trademark it was – it was nearly impossible to think about Stan’s laugh as anything as bland as “contained”. Eddie smirked to himself as he noticed a mop of red hair moving frantically in between a few tables near them. Stan’s smile was an expression caught between amusement and shame.

“I think I have an enemy now,” he mumbled, a little uncertain, searching for Eddie’s eyes “Do you think a tip will save my reputation?”.

“Be ready to leave your savings here. That’s what happens when ignorant southern people decide to move to big cities. The lack of manners, tsc”.

“Hey,” Stan leaned forward, his blue eyes glistening playfully as he looked right into Eddie’s eyes, the lights casting a curious golden glow to his pale skin “I was trying to break the ice with you, it was your fault”.

“Talking about potential flesh-eating bacteria eating my face isn’t exactly the most effective way at small talk, Stanley”.

“So you’re telling me that tiny Eds turned into a difficult man, Kaspbrak?”.

Eddie just shrugged, drinking his water a little too fast, hoping to not choke and spill his beverage right there. There was something so easy about how Stanley moved around, from the way his hands were touching his mug, long fingers curling and uncurling rebel strands of hair, the absolute lightness of his eyes and soft laughs. There was something undeniably peaceful about his eyes that didn’t remind him not even for a second the cloudy and stormy blue orbits of Stan’s teenage self. Adorned by soft wrinkles and thick dirty blonde eyebrows, Stanley’s eyes were a weird reminder of who they were now and the weird circumstances in which they found each other again.

The thought in itself – and a myriad of disconnected thoughts that Eddie’s nerves couldn’t bear to deal with – breached a barrier in Eddie’s mind that flooded his cheeks with a heat once forgotten.

“I don’t want Christopher to hate me,” Stan nearly pouted, to Eddie’s utter uneasiness “This looks like to be a nice place, with quite decent prices. I think I would like to come here more often as I’m clearly incompetent to move around in such a big city.

“Don’t be dramatic, I bet Atlanta isn’t that small. Also, I don’t think he would like you addressing him by his first name”, with a teasing tone, Eddie watched as Stan sighed, cheek pressed against his palm “There are quite decent places around. You’ll get used”.

“This city is expensive, Eddie,” and he frowned, looking a mix of annoyance and frightened surprise “I mean, I know it should’ve been expensive, but this much? I feel like being stabbed every time I order for a coffee. And it’s been only two weeks and a half since I’m here”.

“You know what? Accountancy suits you just fine”.

“Are you mocking me? Or implying another Jewish versus Money, joke, Eddie?” Stan squinted his eyes and Eddie felt the need to giggle, which was stupid, considering all he had was some fancy strawberry flavored water “Because Risk Management suits _you_ just fine, Kaspbrak”.

“I said what I said”, he shrugged “But I guess if you look around a little more you’ll find nice places to go”.

“Would you help me?”, and he quite didn’t wait for Eddie’s response – not that he could say anything other than a dazed acquiesce in response to what was maybe unfolding in front of his eyes – before adding the detail that Eddie had easily and inexplicably forgotten “Patty didn’t show me much yet”.

“Oh”.

“If you don’t mind me asking, are you not that concerned with skin cancer anymore?”.

“What?”, it was Eddie’s time to look like mimicking a confused dog as he tilted his head in response to the abrupt change of subject.

“I mean, you can have skin cancer in your hands too,” Stan smiled sheepishly again, moving his hands to hover just above the one Eddie was resting on the table, near his empty plate. As he gazed down, the thin light skin circling his finger made him gulp “Are you married, Eddie? Do you have a wife?”.

_“Well, you’re all alone now. I think it will do just fine”._

_Eddie squeezed the handles of his briefcase, avoiding at all costs the look on his coworker’s face, someone he barely had any contact at the firm other than a couple of business trips, meetings and the coincidence of having their workstation close to one another. Not to mention the other sour circumstance that made some random real estate agent he accidentally found while browsing through yellow pages the same guy that used to drink smelly ginger tea by his side at work._

_“I’ll pay for the three months in advance,” his throat was dry and the fact that they were standing on a carpet with their shoes on left Eddie painfully aware of all the places in which he walked in using those shoes “You don’t really have to change the contract terms just because you know me…”._

_“Oh, Edward, no, no” the man – Dennis – moved his hands in front of his body as if to try to demonstrate both the nonsense of Eddie’s statement and his own lack of concern about the whole ordeal. Eddie couldn’t quite tell, considering his rushed mind that could never precise what people actually meant by their body language, rather creating lots of tragic scenarios in which most people only had negative and sourful thoughts about himself. He could bet Dennis was pitying on him, maybe confirming his eventual suspicious that Edward Kaspbrak was just too inadequate – too unfitting – to sustain a marriage._

_“I absolutely trust you,” Dennis touched his shoulder and left his hand there, despite Eddie’s grimace (one that he didn’t bother to refrain himself from) “We work together, I know you for almost five years, there’s no need to subject you to an unnecessary bureaucratic process, no, no, it’s fine”._

_“I insist”._

_“No, son, I insist”, he patted Eddie’s shoulder in what should’ve been a paternal gesture “Now, feel free to settle yourself in your new home. If you need anything you can call me regardless of the time, okay? See you on Monday, Kaspbrak”._

_He should’ve checked the taps while Dennis was still in there. And the light switch as well as the light bulbs. He should’ve made sure that the door and window hinges were working, and if the AC system was clean. What kind of risk manager was he to just not take precautions?_

_Precautions were important. Like prenuptial agreements._

_But he would let Myra keep the apartment and everything she wanted. He couldn‘t mind. But most importantly, he couldn’t risk going there to be lulled into the familiarity of their home just like a baby nestled on a crib. His outburst of courage was a foreign feeling that he couldn’t attribute to anything but luck and exhaustion._

_Before moving his body, he took off his shoes, sighing tiredly at the thought that no, Dennis probably didn’t have a vacuum cleaner in there. He would have to buy one and all the other appliances that were lacking in his new home. He didn’t have any idea about what he had in there and the act of rummaging through drawers and cabinets felt like snooping on someone else’s belongings._

_His home was in there now. With those maroon sofa and orange cushions. At the age of 33, after 20 years living with his mother, and other 13 with Myra, as if ending the second season of the same tiresome show, Eddie finally found himself alone, with time to rest._

_The briefcase contained all that he could gather fast enough before Myra arrived from the supermarket, and Eddie was trying to leave at the back of his mind the fact that some very personal belongings were left at his – former – home because of lack of time and space inside his already stuffed bag. His old cast, some pictures of his childhood friends before being dragged away from Derry, his copies of The Tartar Steppe and The Death of Ivan Ilitch._

_Sighing, he placed the briefcase near the door, resting it neatly side by side with his shoes. He had no idea what time it was after being trapped inside Dennis’ car for so long, and the thought of turning on his phone and risking having her name flashing on the screen would probably make him curl up on that foreign sofa and bawl his eyes out._

_His new neighborhood was, thankfully, far enough from his old place._

_Eddie stared randomly at his new curtains – beige – before deciding to leave and buy food he hoped to be able enough to cook._

“I mean, I survived,” he shrugged, feeling odd for not being as sad or even mad for talking – and thinking – about Myra after so long “I nearly food poisoned myself at first, had some issues to change light bulbs, but I survived”.

“What about her? Do you know how she’s going on?” Stan bit his lip, hesitantly “If you don’t mind me asking, of course”.

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s been seven years, Stan. I’m fine,” and his half smile was, surprisingly, reassuring “She moved to Michigan, she has a sister there. She lived for a while in Montana, but it’s been three years since she settled in Michigan”.

“Are you in contact with one another?”.

“Nope, she hates my guts. I know where she is because I still pay for her credit card bills”.

“But why?” and Stan’s tone, that astonished, and mildly outraged tone, made Eddie cast down his gaze, staring at his empty glass, cheeks on fire.

“It’s hard for you to understand, I guess, but for me it feels like some sort of compensation”.

“Compensation for w-“

“Don’t ask me,” his voice was barely an ashamed mumble as he played with his metallic straw “I just feel like I own her for those thirteen years. Not that I was… Happy, but, yeah. I made her lose more than a decade of her life by my side, being there for her financially is the least I can do”.

“How could someone lose life _with you_ , Eddie?”

All he saw on those blue orbs were nothing but unrestricted affection and admiration, and Eddie felt chills all over his limbs, fingers tingling because of _twenty-seven_ years. It felt like his thirteen old self was ripping off his chest, trying to break free to rewind memories buried deep down in which all he could feel was gratitude and fondness for a curly haired boy that never did anything but to understand his struggles, even the ones the others deemed too insignificant.

“I’m… pretty boring, Stan”.

“Well, I need to disagree. I think you grow up to be someone quite different than what I thought you would look like as you reached forty, Eddie” Stan chuckled and Eddie sensed the edges of a subject he didn’t want to deal with poking at his ribs “Don’t roll your eyes, that’s still my role”.

“Sure, boss”.

“Hm, do you think it’s safe to call Christopher here for more coffee? And your fancy and tasteless water?”.

“I don’t think he’ll try to bite you this time”.

Eddie watched as Stan rose his hand, a wary look on his face. He paid no mind to look at the waiter to see his reaction, rather focusing his gaze on Stan’s inner arm covered by his wooly sweater. When Stan’s hand tugged at the fabric, revealing the black and grey contours of what should be a sunflower, Eddie quickly turned his gaze to Stan’s, questioningly.

“We were trying to fix things up because both my parents and hers didn’t think we should. They were never happy about our relationship, not to mention our marriage. But we were stubborn, we _are_ stubborn”, he shrugged, half a smile “We decided to go in a trip to solve our issues and.... too short things and go to the core of it, we were in a flower field watching the sunset when Patty told me she no longer wanted to be married to me”.

“Oh,” the need to scratch his nape wasn’t real, but Eddie didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, and he needed to move “I’m sorry”.

“Nah, don’t be. It was a mutual decision. And we’re still friends, good friends. We both decided to leave Atlanta and search for new horizons. Patty is in Finland now”.

“Wow, pretty far”.

“Yeah. That day in which I saw you” – Eddie’s heart nearly skipped a bit – “It was her last day in here and we decided to do something we were planning for a couple of years, but we were just too old fashioned and boring to try”.

“The tattoos?”.

“Yeah. Patty meant a lot to me, and she still does. We didn’t want our time together to be remembered as something sad,” Stan shrugged, a light pink tint spreading across his cheeks and nose. He looked nothing but adorable, but was that adjective suitable for a middle-aged man? Eddie wondered. “So we decided to mark on us our new beginning”.

“That’s very touching, Stan”.

“The correct term is sappy, Eddie”.

“You’re old. It’s natural”.

“Dickhead,” Stan stretched his back, playful eyes on Eddie “What about you? What were you trying to do?”.

_“To be someone new, Eddie”, her tone was reassuring, but it only made him feel even more stupid and small “It takes a great deal of courage. Don’t be too harsh with yourself”._

_“It itches”._

_“Yes, and it’s normal,” Susanne, a smiling blonde girl covered in old school colorful drawings, squeezed his hand as the noise coming from outside of her studio made Eddie shrink on the chair “You’re not having an infection, Eddie. You’re actually taking good care of it”._

_“My skin feels hot around it,” he mumbled, voice nasal, too embarrassed for crying in front of someone to which he tried to be confident for three weeks as they planned his first tattoo, but feeling hopeless enough to not deny comfort. He was Eddie Kaspbrak, after all._

_“It’s not an infection, believe me,” and he could hear beneath her reassuring tone the hints of her worry. He kept silent as she slowly started to stroke the back of his hand, a little sloppily and maybe a bit uncomfortable “Try not to think too much about it. It’s healing really well, it suits you and you told me such nice things about the meaning behind it”._

_“It’s going to be with me forever,” the measure of time – the impossibility of actually measuring that – made him shiver “The risks of removal are just too big”._

_“Don’t remove it,” delicately, but smiling playfully, she digs her sharp red nails on his palm, receiving a confused glance in return “Why do you look so crestfallen when you have such a nice piece of work on you? And I’m not saying this to brag, but can’t you see how important is the meaning of this to you? Don’t you remember the things you told me about this drawing?”._

_“I do,” and he was incapable to look at her as the emotions were overflowing him. There were steps that he was apparently incapable of walking through, evoking the memory of decisions that he was never allowed to make._

_“It was not an impulsive thing for you to regret before it’s even healed. And your skin looks pretty healthy,” she briefly gestured to his upper arm with her free hand, a bright smile on her face, fingers entwined to his shaking ones “I think…To whoever this is, it’s such a sweet gesture, Eddie”._

_“Sometimes It's just too much…”_

“I mean,” licking his lips, Eddie stared at his refilled glass of flavored water, noticing that Stan also hasn’t touched his cup of coffee since a sulky Christopher brought them their new orders “I… Never had ownership of this body, Stanley,” he gulped, swallowing hard the lump that was starting to crawl back to his throat “Myra was… Too worried, if I can put things like this. Richie would've probably said that I married my own mother”.

“Did you?”

“Yeah, I did”.

Stan avoided his gaze, glancing at the table, organizing the placemats to look symmetrical. Eddie watched as his fingers traced over wrinkles on the fabric, reminding of times in which he restrained himself from just hugging Stanley only to avoid upsetting the other boy about his perfectly ironed shirts.

During a great part of his childhood, he wanted to be able to be less anxious and understand Stanley just like the other did to him. Never making fun of his countless hygiene rituals or his panic attacks at simple tasks like to sit on the grass to birdwatch. He wished to be for Stan the same source of understanding that Stan was to him, but the combination of lack of patience and being taken away from Derry prematurely prevented him from establishing a bond that Stan would remember _too_.

Stanley spent an agonizing amount of time too concerned with the placemats before glancing at Eddie with newfound curiosity and some mischievous grin.

“How many do you have now?”.

“Fourteen”.

“Fourteen?”

“Yeah”.

“Hm,” Stan smirked, sipping from his coffee. As the mug clacked against the saucer in such an abrupt way, he glanced back at Eddie with electric eyes “What does _that one_ mean, Eddie?”

**December 13rd, 2019**

**Hunched over a table, purple haired woman scratching his forearm with a needle.**

**1:45pm**

Patty was near him, eyeing his face with such a debauching smile that Stan felt like his eyes would get caught on the back of his head. The pain was real, that was for sure, so why hide it beneath a façade of a man he no longer wanted to be? Her arm was already wrapped in a thin layer of plastic wrap, a bright yellow sunflower adorning her tanned arm. She looked smugly and Stan was definitely ready to ask for a dull black and grey flower instead of what they had planned.

As soon as she took pity on his clear discomfort on being scrutinized that intensely, Stan’s eyes wandered the room, staring randomly at tacky looking trophies and flashes displayed on a wall. Detaching himself from the fact that there was a needle inking – permanently – his skin was an exercise he strongly needed to avoid paying attention to edges he shouldn’t try to trim.

There were other people around himself doing the exact same thing, most of them far braver and far younger than him, displaying large drawings and colorful schemes. As he watched them, it occurred to him that in a matter of less than 24hours he would be all alone for the first time in fifteen years.

Briefly glancing at Patty, at her curly hair and bright smile, Stanley felt a wave of gratitude for her that he could barely put in coherent terms. Everything felt fresh and new, and the grandeur of it all could, for sure, be immortalized on that tiny and definitely weirdly designed sunflower.

By his time to have his own arm wrapped and protected – with Patty incessantly mocking him about how _Stanley_ that sad colorless flower looked like – his eyes caught the figure of once familiar slumped shoulders, followed by a quick rambling, spoken in a rushed fast tone, but low, like a frantic bee buzz.

He saw combed chestnut hair and small dark eyes, a wrist equally bandaged as his own, and a certain drawing.

The bird looked _hideous_ and Stan _smiled_.

He couldn't help himself. "Surprise" wasn't a proper term. 

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie's bird tattoo was actually inspired by James Ransone's real bird tattoo.


End file.
